Lord Summoner's Freedom Philosophy: Grimoire of Love
Chapter 430: The Southern Front (End) Time to Move

Chapter 430: The Southern Front (End) Time to Move

The battlefield stretched silent and somber as Lyan stood amidst the remnants of the Varzadian forces. The air was heavy with the metallic tang of blood and the faint moans of the wounded. A thin fog lingered, swirling between shattered wagons and discarded weapons. Around him, his soldiers moved swiftly, securing prisoners and sweeping for stragglers. Lyan’s glaive rested loosely in his hand, its blade glinting faintly as he surveyed the aftermath of the ambush.

Commander Thallus knelt before him, his once-proud armor dented and smeared with dirt and blood. His sword fell from trembling hands, clattering onto the ground.

"I concede," Thallus said, his voice hoarse. "You...’ve bested us."

Lyan’s gaze bore into the man, weighing his words. The Devil Baron, as they called him, wasn’t known for mercy, but Lyan had a different goal today. He nodded curtly.

"You’ll live," Lyan said, his voice low but resolute. "For now. Bind him and keep him under heavy guard. I’ll have questions later."

Surena moved forward, her blade flicking to Thallus’s throat as two soldiers yanked the commander to his feet. Her silver eyes narrowed, gleaming with restrained fury.

"You’re too kind, Lyan. A man like this..." She left the thought unfinished, her sword pressing just enough to make the prisoner’s breath hitch.

"His time will come if needed," Lyan said, turning his attention to Wilhelmina. She was already barking orders, her sharp mind dissecting the scene like a surgeon.

"Secure all supply wagons!" Wilhelmina commanded. "Josephine, catalog everything—food, weapons, medicine. I want a full inventory before nightfall."

Josephine’s face lit with quiet satisfaction. "Of course. Finally, something useful." She directed soldiers toward the wagons, her practical nature taking over as she sorted through the haul.

Wilhelmina’s eyes gleamed as she studied the supplies—the enemy’s loss was their windfall. "This isn’t just a victory," she murmured to herself. "This is an advantage. Enough to shift momentum for the entire war."

Lyan caught her expression and smiled slightly.

(She’s practically drooling.) (Lyan)

(A brilliant victory, Lyan. But do you see how your sharp tact aligns with—) (Hestia)

(Spare us the speeches, Hestia,) (Lyan)

(The battle’s done; focus on securing the win.) (Arturia)

(I will even without you tell me too) (Lyan)

"Surena, Alice, Emilia," Lyan called, his voice calm but firm.

"Coordinate the sweep. I want no loose ends. Anyone still resisting is to be subdued or silenced."

The Valkyries saluted, their movements precise and unified. Soldiers around them cheered as the trio descended into the field, each woman’s presence exuding confidence and command.

Hours later, the Astellian army stood within what had been the Varzadian encampment. Engineers worked tirelessly to repurpose its structures, reinforcing walls and digging new trenches. Medics tended to the wounded, their hands steady despite exhaustion. The smell of cooking food wafted through the air as cooks prepared proper meals for the first time in days.

Josephine approached Lyan, her notebook in hand.

"The haul is substantial," she began, flipping a page.

"Enough rations for at least two months. A surplus of arrows, bolts, even siege equipment. And look at this—spare horses, well-fed and healthy."

Wilhelmina stepped beside her, glancing over the notes.

"This... this changes everything," she said, her voice brimming with excitement.

"We can reinforce not just ourselves but the main army. This camp, these supplies, they’re a treasure trove."

Lyan nodded, satisfied.

"Then make it ours. Use what we need and send what we don’t to the rear lines. Astellia deserves every advantage we can give it."

Night fell swiftly, and the camp buzzed with renewed energy. Soldiers shared hearty meals around crackling fires, their laughter and conversations filling the once somber air. The scent of roasted meat and fresh bread wafted through the camp, a stark contrast to the grim scenes of battle earlier that day. Some soldiers played dice games, their cheers and groans adding to the lively atmosphere, while others simply sat in groups, exchanging stories of home and camaraderie.

Lyan stood at the heart of the encampment, his silhouette illuminated by the largest fire. His presence was commanding, his dark cloak catching the occasional flicker of light as he observed his men. His glaive rested by his side, its blade reflecting the flames like a silent reminder of the battle they had fought and won. He raised a hand, signaling for quiet, and the camp’s chatter gradually subsided as all eyes turned toward him.

"This victory isn’t just ours," he began, his voice steady and resonant, carrying effortlessly across the gathered crowd. "It’s for Astellia—for our families, for every soul relying on us to hold this line. Today, you have proven your strength and resilience. You’ve shown not just courage but unity, and that unity will be our greatest weapon in the battles to come."

A murmur of agreement rippled through the crowd, soldiers nodding as they absorbed his words. Lyan’s gaze swept over them, his sharp eyes meeting theirs, one by one, as though committing each face to memory. "Tonight, we celebrate, but remember—this is just the beginning. Rest well, for tomorrow, we move forward. We push not just for survival, but for victory, for Astellia, and for all those who place their faith in us."

The camp erupted in cheers, a unified cry of determination and pride. Soldiers raised their weapons, some clanging swords against shields in rhythmic celebration. The sound was deafening, a resounding promise that they would fight on, no matter the odds. Lyan allowed himself a rare smile, a flicker of warmth amid his usual stoicism, as he stepped back into the shadows, letting the soldiers bask in their shared triumph.

Inside the command tent, the mood was quieter but equally determined. Lyan and his commanders gathered around a large table, a map of the southeastern front spread before them. Candles flickered, casting long shadows as strategies were discussed.

"The main Varzadian force remains strong," Lyan began, tapping a marked location on the map. "But their cohesion is weak. We’ve disrupted their supply lines and taken their southern forward base. It’s time we do more."

Wilhelmina leaned forward, her finger tracing a potential route. "We could use their captured supplies to reinforce the main Astellian army. If we create an opening here," she pointed to a choke point, "we can force them into a disadvantageous position."

"Communication is key," Josephine added. "If we’re too aggressive without coordination, we risk throwing the main army off balance. We need layered messaging—one to inform them of our plan, and another to confirm its success."

Abraham’s voice, calm and steady, followed. "I believe that our scouts must map every potential route. If the main army is to act, it must be with absolute certainty."

Alice, leaning on her sword, smirked. "Let’s keep the momentum. Hit them hard, hit them fast. Precision strikes to cripple their command structure. They won’t recover."

Lyan listened, his mind piecing together the ideas. He nodded slowly. "We move in phases. First, we scout. Find their weaknesses. Then, we disrupt. Guerrilla tactics to shatter their cohesion. And finally, we strike, creating the opening the main army needs to end this war."

Lyan leaned over the map spread across the command table, his fingers tracing the routes they had discussed. His expression was grave as he addressed the gathered commanders. "We need someone to carry these messages to the main army. It’s a critical task—not only to inform them of our plan but to confirm its success when the time comes. This has to be done with precision."

Abraham, standing by the edge of the table, crossed his arms. "The terrain between here and their position is treacherous, but I know these forests better than anyone. I’ll take the messages myself."

Wilhelmina looked up sharply, her brows furrowing. "Abraham, your skills are indispensable here. We need you scouting, gathering information on the enemy’s movements. Without your expertise, we’re blind."

Josephine chimed in, her tone thoughtful. "She’s right. If you leave, we lose our edge in reconnaissance. We need someone swift and capable, but your role in this camp is too vital."

Abraham frowned, clearly torn. "Who else could navigate these woods as well as I can? I don’t trust anyone else with something this important."

A soft voice broke through the discussion. "I’ll do it."

All heads turned toward Ravia, who had stepped forward from the shadows of the tent. Her chin was held high, her eyes steady as they met Lyan’s.

"Ravia..." Lyan began, his tone wary. "This isn’t a simple task. It’s dangerous. I can’t send you into that."

Abraham placed a hand on Ravia’s shoulder, his voice calm but firm. "She’s my granddaughter, trained by me. If anyone here has the skills to get through enemy lines, it’s her."

Ravia nodded, her voice unwavering. "You know I can do this, Lyan. Trust me. I won’t fail."

Lyan hesitated, his gaze shifting between Abraham and Ravia. He wanted to argue, to find another way, but he saw the resolve in her eyes. After a long moment, he sighed. "Very well. Prove me right, Ravia. Deliver our message and return safely."

The camp bustled as preparations were finalized, a flurry of activity that reflected the gravity of the mission ahead. Soldiers meticulously sharpened their weapons, the rhythmic scraping of steel on stone echoing across the encampment. Mages worked in focused clusters, weaving intricate enchantments to fortify defenses, their hands glowing with energy as they chanted incantations. Scouts gathered in small groups, studying hastily sketched maps and discussing potential routes for the coming strikes, their expressions a mix of determination and caution.

Near the edge of the camp, Ravia stood by her horse, adjusting the straps of the saddle with practiced precision. Her jaw was set, her eyes gleaming with resolve as the weight of her task settled on her shoulders. She exhaled deeply, the cool night air brushing against her face as she prepared herself for the journey ahead. Nearby, Lyan approached with deliberate steps, his expression a careful blend of sternness and concern.

"Ravia," he began, his voice low but firm. "You know the risks. Are you certain about this?"

She met his gaze without hesitation, her tone steady. "I’ve trained for moments like this. I can do it."

For a moment, Lyan was silent, his sharp eyes scanning her face as if searching for any sign of doubt. Seeing none, he nodded slowly. "Very well. Remember, this isn’t just about delivering a message—it’s about ensuring the survival of everyone here."

Ravia mounted her horse with a fluid motion, her movements as confident as her words. As she settled into the saddle, Abraham approached, his presence a reassuring anchor. "You’ve got this," he said, his voice calm yet full of pride. "Show them what you’re capable of."

"I will," she replied, her determination unwavering. She adjusted her grip on the reins and glanced back at Lyan. "Trust me."

Lyan placed a hand on her horse’s bridle, his gaze serious but not without warmth. "Come back to us, Ravia. I’ll will be waiting."

She nodded sharply, her confidence resolute. With a final glance at the gathered soldiers, she spurred her horse forward, the rhythmic thud of hooves filling the air as she rode towards the horizon. A small escort followed, their formation tight as they vanished into the distance. Behind them, a cheer erupted from the soldiers, their faith in her evident in the sound of their voices.

Lyan lingered for a moment, watching until she disappeared from view. Then, turning back to his army, his voice rang out with authority, cutting through the buzz of activity. "Remember who we are. We are the vanguard—the spearhead that pierces through the enemy’s heart. Trust in your comrades, trust in our strategy, and trust in our cause."

The forest loomed ahead, quiet yet brimming with tension. Lyan and his commanders led their forces forward, their movements precise and silent. Every step brought them closer to the contested battlefield, the air thick with anticipation.

Lyan’s voice, calm but commanding, broke the silence. "Stay sharp. Let’s move."